


Working Out The Kinks

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Flirting, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Innuendo, M/M, Sharing a Bed, the healing power of massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another salt and burn for Sam, Dean, and Cas, and it's not like they're unaccustomed to the aches and pains that come along with digging up graves and fending off tableware hurled by angry spirits while armed with nothing but decorative side tables. It's all there in the job description. Luckily for Sam, the woman he'd defended from her own collection of flying Hummel figurines begs to differ. According to her, they all deserve a day at the spa. She insists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Out The Kinks

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a silly notion while I was talking with [meangreenlimabean](http://meangreenlimabean.tumblr.com/) about a story she was writing. All I remember about the conversation now is the word "pedicure." Because I thought HEY! I CAN WRITE A CUTE LITTLE 1500 WORD STORY ABOUT TFW GETTING PEDICURES! IT WOULD BE AWESOME! AND HILARIOUS! Little did I also know that it would actually be 8500 words. Oops. Hopefully it's still awesome and hilarious. Enjoy!

Stuff is flying everywhere. Sam’s pretty sure that was an actual Ming vase that just smashed against the wall above his head. Even if it’s a dime store knockoff, it’s obviously special to the sweet old lady he’s protecting with his body and an overturned end table held out like a shield. Mrs. Thornapple chokes out a decidedly angry sob, and desperately gathers every shard of the pottery she can reach. She keeps trying to crawl out from behind the barrier Sam’s struggling to keep between her and her flying memorabilia, and he wonders if her unshakable focus on collecting the shattered pieces is just her way of coping with the vengeful spirit currently intent on demolishing her home.

“Come on, come on,” Sam mutters under his breath as he swings the end table around to deflect the brass lamp hurtling towards Mrs. Thornapple’s outstretched arm. He briefly contemplates why fancy old-as-fuck houses have so many old-as-fuck heavy things lying around for angry spirits to chuck at him, and sends yet another prayer out to Cas, even though he knows the ex-angel can’t hear him. It makes him feel better for a split second before a huge antique floor globe crashes against the living room wall beside him, exploding in a rain of splinters. He giggles a little hysterically as the Southern Hemisphere rolls off toward the dining room, while central Asia’s still embedded in the plaster behind him and North America lies face down on the front hall carpeting.

He’d left Dean and Cas at the graveyard a mile outside of town. The three of them had been digging up the bones of the house’s original owner when his great-however-many-times-removed granddaughter, sweet old Mrs. “Please-Call-Me-Mavis” Thornapple, called Sam to beg for help when her antique silver service began flinging itself at her from across the room. Dean and Cas started digging faster, and Sam raced back to save the nice woman who’d served them lemonade and Linzer torte that afternoon.

Sam ducks again, then reaches out and picks up the dented silver serving bowl that had just bounced off the wall where his head had been moments before. He absently hands it to Mrs. Thornapple.

“Oh, thank you dear!” she replies, dropping the pieces of shattered vase into the bowl, before raising a shaky hand and petting Sam on the shoulder. She clutches the mementos to her chest and tries to make herself as small a target for the spirit as possible.

Just as Sam is about to suggest they make a run for the front door, and the hope of safety, there’s one final crash and the house goes blessedly silent. He doesn’t let down his guard yet, though. He risks one last peek over the edge of his table-turned-shield, but there’s no more creepy Hummel figurines hanging in mid-air, and no more cutlery poised like missiles zeroed in on their location.

“Is it…” Mrs. Thornapple begins with a cautiously hopeful tremor in her voice, “Is it over? Is it gone?”

Sam lowers the table, and just as he turns to assure her they’re going to be okay, his phone rings, startling them both. They stare at each other for a moment, wide eyed, before Mavis smiles meekly at Sam and pats him on the arm. Sam grins back and answers the phone, because of course it’s Dean giving them the all clear. Dearly Departed Great-great-grandpappy Thornapple is no more.

Sam explains to Dean that while Mavis is shaken up but otherwise fine, her house is trashed.

“Me and Cas have an hour or two of work left here,” Dean says. “Why don’t you help her dust her knick-knacks and rearrange her doilies, then come pick us up.”

Sam gets to his feet, eyeing the full set of kitchen knives embedded to the hilt in the hardwood floor around his feet, and sighs. “Whatever, jerk. I’ll call when I leave here.” He hears Dean snort as he hangs up.

He’s about to offer a hand down to help Mavis up, but she’s already on her feet and bustling around behind him. Without another word, he joins her in the cleanup effort, kneeling down to work the knives free of the floorboards.

An hour and a half later, after Sam’s hauled the sixth trash bag full of unsalvageable Thornapple family history out to the curb, Mavis brings him his third glass of lemonade and together they survey the results of their labor.

“I’m really sorry we couldn’t stop this from happening to you Mrs…”

Mavis glares at Sam until he corrects himself.

“Mavis. Are you sure you’ll be okay here by yourself tonight?”

Mavis double-checks the sturdiness of the Victorian parlor chair that had made several unscheduled flights around the living room, and then sits down. “Are you boys sure that thing’s gone for good?”

Sam hates to give a one hundred percent guarantee. They learned a long time ago that there’s no such thing as a routine salt and burn. So he hedges a little bit, because forewarned is forearmed, the more you know, blah blah and all that. “Reasonably sure.” He starts to say, “ma’am,” and catches himself in time for it to come out, “Mahaavis.” Luckily, Mavis finds this hilarious, and about falls off her chair laughing.

“Oh, Sam. There’s nothing reasonable about anything that’s gone on here for the last few weeks, and it ain’t driven me out of my home yet,” she says, composing herself and smiling fondly at Sam.

“I suppose that’s true,” Sam replies. She’d put up with the meddling spirit for nearly a month before it sent her son to the hospital with a broken arm, and tried to throw her grandson down the stairs. Lucky for the kid, he’s been training in martial arts for years, and knows how to take a fall. “We’re gonna be in town for a few more days in any case, so if anything else happens, call us and we’ll come right back.”

Mavis nods appreciatively, then jumps up all of a sudden, startling Sam. She runs off toward the kitchen calling back over her shoulder, “If you boys are sticking around anyway, then you have to let me do something to repay you for your help.”

“It’s okay, Mavis,” Sam calls out. “This is what we do. We don’t expect anything, especially after you’ve already been through so much.”

Mavis practically skips back into the room, and presses an envelope into Sam’s hand with a delighted smile. “Nonsense, Sam. I want you to have this. Goodness knows your friends can probably use this more than I can.”

Sam looks quizzically between Mavis and the plain white envelope in his hands.

“It’s a gift certificate,” Mavis clarifies. “My daughter-in-law thinks I need to get out of the house more, and act more like the proper little old lady that I am. She thinks a bunch of fancy spa treatments would be just the thing to set me straight.”

“Spa treatments?” Sam asks, taking a peek inside the envelope.

“Some newfangled day spa opened up on Main Street last year, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I have no interest in some stranger rubbing me down or painting my fingernails. But you said those other two spent the evening digging up a grave?” She peers critically at Sam, as if she weren’t disturbed by the _grave_ part so much as the _digging_ part.

Sam nods.

“Well, then those two could probably use a little relaxation. My back’s gone all cattywampus just thinking about how much work that must’ve been for them.”

“Trust me, Mavis, it’s nothing out of the ordinary for us,” Sam tries to reassure her, trying to hand the envelope back.

Mavis shakes her head, and starts ushering Sam toward the front door. “All the more reason the three of you need a day for yourselves. You boys take it, and have yourselves a grand old time.”

“You’ll call if you need us, right?”

“I promise, Sam. But right now, I’ve got quite the little arts and crafts project ahead of me, and I’d like to get started.” She points at the dining room table, where small piles of broken heirlooms are arranged in bowls like place settings at the worst dinner party ever. “If it’ll make you feel better, why don’t you drop by again before you leave town. I believe Dean said he wouldn’t mind another slice of my famous torte.”

Sam nods absently, letting Mavis push him out the front door. “We’ll do that. Thank you, Mavis.”

“Thank you, Sam. You have a nice day off tomorrow. You earned it.”

~~~

Meanwhile, back at the graveyard…

Cas knocks the last of the dirt from his shovel and lays it down next to Dean’s, standing over him as Dean crouches to inventory the contents of their duffel. When he’s satisfied, Dean stands up and stretches, arching his back far enough that Cas catches a glimpse of his belly below the hem of his shirt. Dean drops his arms loosely to his sides, shakes himself out, rolls his shoulders a few times to work out the kinks brought on by hours of digging, and then smirks when he catches Cas watching him curiously.

“You should probably move around a little bit, too, Cas.”

“We’ve been moving around all night,” Cas replies, clearly exhausted and completely disinterested in performing any unnecessary physical task.

In fact, Dean notices he’s sort of swaying in place, as if his body were still subconsciously shoveling that small mountain of dirt.

“Yeah, man, but it’s just like with any exercise, you gotta stretch out your muscles after, or you’ll be sore as hell tomorrow.”

Cas absently rubs at his aching shoulder and glares at Dean. “My muscles have never felt so _stretched out_ before.”

Dean shakes his head, and reaches toward Cas before awkwardly dropping his hand. This is Cas’s first hunt as a human, and while he’s spent the last few weeks learning how to handle weapons and practicing fighting without his grace, this is the first time he’s had to put any of his new skills to use in the real world. It had been hard enough for Dean to put his feelings aside while teaching Cas to shoot (both guns and pool), and while brushing up on their hand to hand combat training, but knowing that Cas is in pain that he could soothe away with his hands is almost too much to resist. He desperately searches for the right words to help his friend, so he won’t be tempted to cross any of his self-imposed lines.

“That’s… It’s… not stretched out, Cas. Your muscles have been working so hard they’re all tensed up. If you don’t do something to loosen them up before you sleep tonight, you’ll wake up stiff as a board tomorrow morning…” Dean nearly bites his tongue when he hears the double entendre coming out of his mouth, and awkwardly rubs at the crick in his own neck. “Uh, I mean, dammit. Just stretch a little bit, man. You’ll thank me later.”

Cas watches curiously as Dean turns away. He didn’t miss Dean’s cheeks flushing pink, nor did he miss the reason for Dean’s sudden embarrassment. He is, after all, much more pop culture savvy than ever before. He’s also much more _Dean savvy_. It’s not as if he hasn’t noticed these little things before, but they’d been much easier to ignore when he had a cool layer of grace to separate his intellectual reaction from his body’s more emotional reaction.

Cas might be great at parsing the specific things that make Dean uncomfortable, but he’s just beginning to understand the context for his discomfort _personally_. For years he’d been content to know what upset Dean. Now he finds himself experiencing those same reactions in a visceral, human way, and he wonders if the underlying causes behind Dean’s hitched breath and sudden awkward refusal to meet Cas’s eyes might be the same as his own.

Instead of asking Dean outright, since the very idea of expressing his own feelings leaves him in a distressed state of heart-pounding, throat-clenching terror, he stands behind Dean and watches. Dean rolls his head side to side, and Cas does the same. He hears Dean take deep breaths, and slowly let them out as he rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms behind his back. Cas copies every movement, down to each held breath and every long exhale.

Dean eventually settles down on the grass, reclining against a sloped headstone and crossing his outstretched legs at the ankles. He looks up just in time to see Cas finishing up one last stretch. He watches Cas press his hands flat against the ground at his feet, easily bending himself in half. The back of the ratty old t-shirt Dean loaned him for taking care of “dirty work” such as gravedigging succumbs to gravity and bunches up around Cas’s chest. Dean can’t help but watch, mesmerized by the play of muscles as Cas slowly rolls out of his stretch. Cas’s shirt settles back into place, hiding the view of his abs and hips, and Dean’s not sure if he’s more disappointed or relieved

Cas doesn’t miss a moment of this, cataloging Dean’s expressions as they flicker across his face, from amusement to open-mouthed want, right up to the moment Dean seems to become aware of himself, and clamps his jaw shut as he schools his face into a teasing smirk. Maybe it was due to his relaxed state brought on by the slow and gentle exercises, but Cas just smiles softly back at Dean. He takes a few steps closer, but stops just shy of entering Dean’s personal space. Dean’s smirk falters a bit, but he’s still looking up at Cas standing over him.

“You wanna sit down?” Dean asks, scooting over to make room against the headstone. “I just got all the kinks worked out of my neck. I don’t need to give myself another one looking up at you.”

Cas snorts, again picking up on the innuendo, and again wondering if it’s just a habit Dean’s lost control of or if he assumes Cas still doesn’t understand his references and finds it entertaining to say such things to fallen angels. As he sits, Cas decides it’s time to give Dean a taste of his own medicine.

“I would hate to be the cause of any of your kinks, Dean.”

They’re reclining almost shoulder to shoulder against the cool granite, and Cas can see Dean tense up minutely out the corner of his eye. Dean chokes out a little laugh, and Cas smiles up at him.

“You were right,” Cas says, turning toward Dean. “About the stretching. I feel much more at ease now.”

Dean spends a few seconds trying to figure out if Cas said that on purpose, if he had even the foggiest notion of how many of Dean’s kinks he’d been responsible for. But… what if he _does_ know? Not just about the kinks, but about everything. He wonders if Cas has been playing the same game of _What If_ that Dean’s been playing with himself for longer than he cares to think about. It certainly bears further study, but probably not while staring at Cas from less than a foot away. Which is what he realizes he’s doing, so he nods and clears his throat, trying to remember what Cas said last so he can form some sort of coherent reply. Stretching. Right.

“Yeah, Cas. That’s… good.”

Cas hums, still smiling, and then looks out over the rows of headstones between them and the road. “I wonder how long we’ll be here?” he muses. “I hope the spirit didn’t do too much damage.”

Dean huffs, crossing his arms over his chest against the cool night air. Now that they’ve finally stopped moving around, he’s starting to feel the chill. It’s only now he realizes that Cas must really be feeling it in just a dirty, sweaty t-shirt. He tries to justify the shiver that runs down his spine as some sort of sympathetic response to Cas feeling cold, but then just lets himself accept the fact he would’ve shivered at that thought even if it had been a hot August afternoon. Dean decides Cas’s comfort takes precedence over his curiosity about Sam’s redecorating woes at the moment, and asks, “Aren’t you getting cold, man? Where’s your jacket?”

“In the trunk of the car,” Cas replies, rubbing his forearms to keep warm. “I left it there when we began digging.”

“Aw, shit,” Dean says, leaning forward and beginning to remove his own jacket to give to Cas.

Cas stops him with a hand to his shoulder. “It’s okay, Dean. You’re obviously cold, as well. And I’m filthy. I wouldn’t want to ruin your coat.”

“You wouldn’t ruin it, Cas. It’s covered in mud already. I’ll throw it in the wash when we get home. No big deal.”

“That would still leave you with no coat now,” Cas reasons. “I’m the one who left mine behind. You shouldn’t be the one to pay the consequence.”

“Consequence? It’s not a fucking punishment, Cas. You don’t have to suffer because Sam had to run off to rescue someone from some asshole ghost.”

“Neither should you,” Cas replies easily. “I’m sure I’ll survive until Sam returns.”

“I’m just saying, you could shoot a little higher than _survival_ as a goal,” Dean replies.

He can already feel the muscles in his back tightening up from leaning against the cold granite headstone, and that’s through his t-shirt, flannel, and jacket. He can only imagine how cold it must feel to Cas.

“Just… if you won’t take the damn coat, at least... “ Dean gives up in a huff and grabs Cas by the shoulders, turning him around so he’s leaning against Dean’s side instead of the headstone. It’s a little awkward, but for lack of a better place to put his arm now that Cas is practically cuddled up to his side under the flap of his jacket, he settles it hesitantly over Cas’s folded arms.

This is the closest they’ve been since Cas fell for good. Outside of hand-to-hand combat training, at least. And those times Dean had grabbed him like this during a practice fight, he’d released him just as quickly. This is different; even discounting the circumstances that led them here, Cas can feel something different in Dean. He doesn’t want to think too hard about it, because he’d probably overthink it and lose his chance to enjoy this moment for what it is. Cas decides he’s tired of trying to decipher all of his feelings, and all of Dean’s motives, and he’s _just plain tired_ right now.

He resettles himself a little more comfortably against Dean, turning a little more so that he can rest his head on Dean’s chest, pulling Dean’s arm around him and holding on to it like a child with a teddy bear. His eyes are already closed, but he’s pretty sure Dean can see the content smile on his face. The last thing he remembers before nodding off is feeling Dean’s other arm wrap around his shoulder and squeeze him tight.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Dean gently nudges Cas awake. He looks up and sees Dean smiling down at him, illuminated by the headlights of the approaching Impala. Cas smiles back for a moment, but it falls the minute Dean releases him and he feels the cold night air nip at his skin. They get to their feet, gather up their gear, then head toward where Sam has parked and gotten out to open the trunk.

Cas retrieves his coat, which is just one of Dean’s old army surplus jackets but is still ten times warmer than his trench coat, and then tosses the shovels into the trunk. Sam hands the keys over to Dean, and they all pile into the car to head back to their motel, and the promise of a hot shower and a warm bed. While they drive, Sam recounts his adventures with Mavis, and then tells them about the day spa gift certificate.

Dean snorts. “Yeah right. Like I want to go eat a bunch of green crap and do yoga all day.”

Sam scoffs, and says, “It’s not a weight loss clinic, Dean, it’s a day spa,” at the same time Cas offers, “The exercises we did tonight were similar to some yoga poses, and you seemed to find them helpful.”

Dean ignores Sam for the moment, and answers Cas first. “So what the hell do I need some jerk in shorts telling me how to bend myself into a pretzel for, then? I got that covered.”

Cas shrugs, but Sam answers him. “They don’t have a yoga class. It’s more like a fancy salon. They do facials, and manicures, and stuff like that. I checked their website.”

“Oh, you checked their website,” Dean mocks. “Then I’m sure they’re legit. Because the fish taco lady had a website, too.”

“Pishtaco,” Sam says, rolling his eyes because he knows Dean’s just trying to rile him up. “And I’m not gonna force you to go, but there’s enough here for us each to get one treatment. I’m going, whether you two decide to go or not. I promised Mavis we’d stick around for a day or two, and if you haven’t noticed, there’s not much else to do in this town. It also might be nice to be able to thank her properly when we go visit her tomorrow night. She’s baking another torte for you, Dean. She knows how much you liked it.”

Dean grumbles a little more, but he finally caves. “Fine. Whatever. You’re lucky there’s not much I wouldn’t do for pie.”

“It’s technically a cake,” Cas offers helpfully.

“It’s got fruit on it,” Dean argues. “Close enough.”

Cas opens his mouth to correct Dean, but Sam speaks up first.

“You should get a pedicure, Dean. Find out why Bobby liked them so much.”

“I don’t need to know what kind of freaky things Bobby had done to his feet, thanks.”

“It’s not freaky, Dean.”

“How would you know?” Dean pulls into the parking spot in front of their motel room, and turns in his seat to glare at Sam accusingly.

Sam rolls his eyes and gets out of the car, calling back over his shoulder, “If you’ve never had anyone give you a proper foot massage, I might actually pity you a little bit right now.”

Dean just sits in the front seat after Sam shuts the door. He’s met a few kinky girls who had a thing for his feet, but right at that moment, the thought of someone spending an hour or so rubbing every aching inch of his feet actually sounds… pretty damn appealing. He glances at Cas, who’s still sitting in the back seat watching Dean, waiting for his verdict on whether or not they’d be joining Sam at the spa. It’s obvious that Cas wants him to say yes, and he can’t resist the stupid hopeful puppydog eyes Cas is giving him.

“Fine. All right? Fine. We’ll go and get _pedicures_.” Dean points one finger at Cas and gives him his sternest frown. “Just promise not one word about Bobby while I’ve got some chick messing with my feet. Deal?”

Cas huffs out a breath that’s practically a laugh, and nods. “Deal.”

~~~

Sam’s already in the shower by the time Dean and Cas make it into the room. There’s only two beds, and Dean and Cas had been taking turns sleeping on the couch. It’s supposed to be Cas’s turn on the couch that night, but after the day they’ve had, Dean can’t bring himself to let Cas scrunch himself onto that lumpy monstrosity.

“You should take the bed,” Dean offers. “The couch sucks for sleeping.”

Cas turns from where he’d been pulling clean clothes out of his duffel, and frowns at Dean. “But it’s my turn.”

“Screw that,” Dean replies. He drops his voice a little when he hears Sam shut off the water. “I’m used to it. You might as well be comfortable. You’ll probably be a little sore tomorrow no matter where you sleep, but it’ll be worse on the couch.”

“Then why don’t we both sleep in the bed,” Cas replied, as if the solution was obvious. “Then we’ll both feel better in the morning.”

Dean gapes at him for a moment, not entirely sure that was the truth. Sure, it would be nice to get a decent night’s sleep, but would that even be possible while sharing the bed with Cas? And is that what Cas actually means, that he’d feel better about having shared the bed with Dean? It’s too much to process in his current state of exhaustion, but Cas is staring at him, waiting for an answer.

Sam chooses that moment to open the bathroom door to let all the accumulated steam from his shower escape while he brushes his teeth. Cas is still staring at Dean, so he finally nods, unsure exactly what he’s gotten himself into. Cas smiles at him, and gathers up his pajamas before walking up to Dean on his way to the bathroom. He pauses for a moment, and rests one hand on Dean’s shoulder, looking happier than he has all night.

“Good. I’ll be quick in the shower, so there should be enough hot water left for you.”

By the time Dean is done in the bathroom, Sam’s fast asleep, or at least doing an excellent job of faking it. Cas is curled up on the left side of the other bed, but he’s turned down the blankets on the right side for Dean. He suddenly feels underdressed in a t-shirt and boxers, even if it’s exactly what he’d slept in the night before in this same room. But the night before, he’d been safely across the room on the couch, by himself.

Dean mentally scolds himself for worrying about such stupid shit. It’s late, he’s exhausted, and he’s just going to lie there and sleep. If he can stop himself from thinking too hard about it, anyway.

He sighs and then slides under the covers. Dean rolls onto his side facing away from Cas, hovering at the very edge of the mattress. It’s not exactly comfortable, and after only a minute he grudgingly rolls over onto his back. The bed’s definitely better than the couch, but it’s nowhere near as soft as his memory foam. After a few minutes of feeling the muscles along his spine throb in protest, he gives up and rolls over again. He finds himself face to face with Cas, who’s blinking sleepily at him.

“Can you not get comfortable, Dean?” Cas whispers, trying not to wake Sam.

“Nah, I miss my bed.”

After a moment’s pause, Cas replies even more quietly, “Would you be more comfortable on the couch? You didn’t seem to have this much trouble last night.”

Dean has to lean in closer to hear him, but that also helps him see Cas better. For some reason he’s having trouble understanding, Cas looks worried. Worried about sharing a bed with him, Dean wonders. He scoots even closer to answer. “No way. I can sleep pretty much anywhere on a normal day, but after a salt and burn, I’ll take the lumpy motel bed over the lumpy motel couch every time.”

Cas nods, but he’s quiet for another few moments. Dean notices that the worry’s starting to fade away, too. “Would you rather I slept on the couch, then?”

Dean rolls his eyes and moves even closer to Cas, so there’s no way he can mistake the serious look on Dean’s face. “I don’t want anyone to sleep on that damn couch, Cas. You’re fine here. I’m fine here. Everybody’s fine here. Let’s just try to get some sleep, huh?”

Cas cracks a smile at that, and the last of the tension melts out of his body. “If you insist, Dean. Goodnight.”

Dean smiles back, and nestles down into his pillows. “Night, Cas.”

The next time his eyes open, Dean’s met with the sight of his brother crouched over the side of the bed snapping a picture of him. He’s so warm and comfortable he can’t find it in him to complain, and instead just blinks and raises an eyebrow at Sam.

Sam grins at the picture, then shoots Dean a thumbs up. “Looking good, sleeping beauty. You know you’ve been out almost nine hours? When’s the last time that happened?”

“What?” Dean grumbles out, closing his eyes again as he remembers who the warm body curled around his back belongs to. He lets himself feel weird about it for half a second, and then lets it go. It’s stupid to try and find some reason to feel ashamed about the best night of sleep he’s gotten in years, even with Cas’s arm wrapped tightly around his stomach and Cas’s warm breath puffing gently against the back of his neck. “Dude, don’t make fun. It’s better than an electric blanket.”

Sam snorts. “I just never pictured you as the little spoon.”

“Yeah, well, I never pictured you as a little anything, you yeti. Shut up. It’s… nice.”

Cas chooses that moment to nuzzle his face against the back of Dean’s neck. At first Dean’s not sure if that’s just how Cas wakes up, or if the gesture is some sort of acknowledgement or agreement with Dean’s statement. He tenses for a second, wondering if Cas is about to wake up and slide away from him, making some excuse or apology for invading his personal space during the night. Instead, Cas slides his hand up over Dean’s heart and takes a deep breath.

“Your brother is right, Sam. This is very nice. I don’t believe that I have ever slept so well. Even with an electric blanket.”

Dean keeps his eyes closed, but can’t help the smile that blooms across his face. So Cas had been awake, and everything is still okay. He doesn’t have to make some lame excuse. He has permission to be okay with this. Dean slides his right hand out from under his pillow, and pats Cas’s hand where it rests against his chest.

It takes everything in him for Sam to resist snapping another picture to capture the look on Castiel’s face. It’s the closest he’s ever seen Cas come to the notions Sam had of angels before he’d actually met any of them. When Dean had told him their mother used to reassure him that angels were watching over him, _this_ is what he pictured. The only word he could come up with to describe it was _adoration_. He wonders if Castiel knows how closely it resembles the look of contentment on Dean’s face.

Sam lets them have their little moment, hesitant to do or say anything that might derail their apparent emotional breakthrough. He’d already been out for breakfast, though, and brought back coffee and donuts. He hadn’t wanted to wake them up before he left, hoping they’d be up long before he returned so he wouldn’t have to see any of this. While he's relieved that Dean isn’t reacting like his normal asshole self, it's almost worse to bear witness to this moment of tender acceptance. He feels like he’s walked in on something intensely personal, but he has to be the bearer of bad news.

“I hate to break up your little love-in, but checkout is in less than an hour. And your coffee’s getting cold.” With his reminder and their breakfast delivered, Sam cleared his throat and picked up his duffel. “I’ll just be outside until you’re ready to go.”

Dean waits until he hears the door click shut behind his brother, and then opens his eyes and cranes his neck around to look at Cas. He doesn’t really want to move, but he can’t quite manage to see him until Cas props himself up on his elbow and looks down at him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Mornin’, Cas.”

“I take it you didn’t develop any new kinks overnight?”

With Cas still wrapped around him, his smirking face hovering just a few inches above his, Dean is unable to deny that Cas knows exactly what he’s implying. He lets that realization settle into his bones and it warms him from the inside out. For once, he decides to stop dancing around the elephant in the room and address it head on.

“Other than a new appreciation for an angel blanket? I feel pretty good.”

Cas squints at him, but he’s still smiling, so Dean doesn’t feel like too much of a jerk when Cas corrects him. “I’m not an angel anymore, Dean.”

“Says you,” Dean counters, pressing his back and shoulder against Cas’s chest. “You’re still watching over me anyway.”

Cas turns serious now, and Dean has a split second to wonder if he’s already ruined whatever the hell seems to be happening between them. “I will always watch over you. Dean.”

Dean stops breathing, and for a second he wonders if his heart’s stopped beating until it kick starts with a vengeance. He knows that this is it, the moment he can brush this all aside and let things go on as they always have, or the moment he can finally man up and tell Cas the truth. The earnest sincerity he sees in Cas’s eyes, the honest _devotion_ … or maybe it’s even that dreaded L-word… is what makes his decision for him.

“You know that goes both ways, right Cas? You know I’ll always watch over you, too.”

Cas swallows hard, and nods. His voice cracks a little when he says, “I do now.”

Well, okay then. This might really be happening, but Dean’s torn between wanting to let every stupid thought he’s ever had about Cas tumble out of his mouth at once and finding that one perfect thing to say that sums it all up. He feels like he’s trapped in some sort of a time warp looking into Cas’s eyes, but eventually he manages a tiny nod, licks his lips, and grunts out, “Good.”

Cas is the one who breaks their staring contest first, glancing down to Dean’s mouth before flicking his gaze back to Dean’s eyes. “Can I… do you mind if…” Cas stumbles over his words, and then licks his own lips.

Dean understands. Rather than try to form a coherent reply, he rolls over onto his back and slides his free hand around the back of Cas’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. It’s tentative at first, a gentle slide of lips, until Cas catches on that Dean doesn’t intend for it to end at a simple chaste peck.

He feels Dean’s fingers clench down in his hair, and responds by practically crawling on top of Dean. Cas grips his shoulder tight, probably leaving a bruise where his handprint had once been burned into Dean’s skin, and dives bodily into the kiss with a deep grumbling groan.

Dean’s overwhelmed by the sheer force of passion that’s suddenly sprouted up out of nowhere in his usually-stoic angel. He’s surprised by it in the best possible way. If he’d known this was lurking just below the surface, he’d have done something about it _years_ ago. The thought’s enough to bring him back to the surface, and he regains control, nipping once at Cas’s lower lip before placing one last sweet, chaste kiss there. He rubs Cas’s neck gently and watches as Cas blinks his eyes open.

Cas catches his breath as he refocuses on Dean smiling tranquilly up at him. Dean’s fingers run idly through his hair and along the back of his neck, tracing random patterns that might as well be magical sigils for the zings of electricity they send rippling across his skin and down his spine. He shivers, which seems to delight Dean, and is then immediately warmed by the grin spreading across Dean’s face.

“I take it that was okay?” Cas asks, even though he already knows the answer. Dean hasn’t stopped touching him; hasn’t made a single move to push him away.

“Yeah, Cas. More than okay. I think it gave me a few new kinks.”

Cas feels his cheeks warm, and looks down at Dean’s chin before he confesses, “I think it did the same for me.”

“Really?” Dean perks up, and his fingers stop moving for a moment before they resume their previous circuit up and down his neck. “Such as?”

Cas groans at the ongoing massage and arches into Dean’s hand like a cat. “What you’re doing with your hand, for one.”

Dean enlarges the pattern his fingertips are drawing against his skin, seeking out new territory across Cas’s shoulders. “You like that?”

“Mmm, yes. It’s quite pleasurable.”

“Anything else you like?” Dean presses, as Cas rests his forehead down on his chest, turning into a limp noodle under Dean’s ministrations.

“I like the taste of your tongue,” Cas says into Dean’s t-shirt.

Dean wrinkles up his nose and lifts Cas’s face up with one finger against his forehead. “That’s gross, dude. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

Cas merely smiles and shrugs. “Then I’ll have to taste it again later. For science.”

He’d tried to deliver the line deadpan, but he’s just too relaxed to pull it off. It doesn’t matter, because Dean laughs anyway. When he recovers, Cas asks, “What about you?”

“Me?” Dean asks, turning serious again. “I want to know how many different noises I can get you to make. You know, for science.”

Cas’s eyes go wide for a second, and then Dean’s hand slides back into his hair and he’s being dragged in for another kiss. Cas makes an undignified squeaking noise, followed by a long moan as Dean kisses a line from his mouth down his jaw, ending just below his ear. He shivers again, and then gasps as Dean’s tongue swipes gently down his neck.

“Like that,” Dean says.

“I believe we have much serious research in our future, Dean.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“You have my word on it.”

Dean rolls his head far enough to see the clock on the nightstand, and groans. They’ve only got ten minutes before they’ve got to check out. He looks back at Cas, and then pulls him in for one last sloppy kiss before they have to get up, get dressed, and, _ugh_ , take Sam to a fucking day spa. The only thing keeping him from just paying for another night in the room and spending the day in bed with Cas carrying out some intensive science is the promise of another of Mavis Thornapple’s pie cakes.

~~~

Exactly ten minutes later, Dean and Cas emerge into the cool autumn sunshine. Dean scans the small parking lot looking for Sam, and finally spots him sprawled out across the Impala’s back seat reading a paperback. Dean spends half a second in silent gratitude for Sam’s understanding and acceptance, and opens the trunk so he and Cas can toss their bags inside. Before he slams it shut, he pulls Cas toward him by his sleeve and plants one last kiss on his lips. Cas looks up at him, clearly surprised, but exceedingly pleased. It makes Dean smile to see it.

“One for the road,” Dean says, letting his hand slide slowly down Cas’s arm. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

Dean lets him go with a quick squeeze of his hand, and settles himself in behind the wheel before turning to address the reclining moose in the back seat. “So where’s this spa anyway?”

Sam closes his book and sits up, brushing his ridiculously long hair out of his eyes. “Not too far,” he says, pulling out his phone with the directions already plugged in to the GPS. “It’s called The Orchid. Mavis said you can’t miss the sign.”

The day spa turns out to be a storefront in a strip mall just off the town’s main street. Dean thinks it looks more like a doctor’s office or a realty company than the only other spa he’d visited, and that suits him just fine. Well, aside from the huge sign shaped like a giant purple flower.

They pile out of the car and trudge through the front door and into an exceedingly purple reception area. Everything is some shade of plum or mauve, or fucking _aubergine_ , Dean thinks, as he feels marginally disgusted with himself for knowing the word _aubergine_ in the first place. He hangs back taking in everything from the subdued abstract artwork, to the shelves lined with ridiculously overpriced beauty products, to the oversized purple leather sofa along the wall behind a purple coffee table covered in purple pamphlets outlining the various services offered.

Cas sticks to Dean’s side, and they let Sam handle the details with the receptionist. They both feel wildly out of place dressed in their usual Hunter Chic wardrobe while surrounded by so much froufy opulence. And so much fucking _purple_.

Dean leans in close enough to whisper in Cas’s ear, “Is it just me, or do you feel like we’re standing inside a really vivid bruise?”

Cas snorts and turns to whisper back. “It’s unseemly. I feel like we’ve wandered into someone’s boudoir uninvited.” For good measure, and to add an extra layer of _unseemly_ , Cas lets his lips slide against Dean’s neck as he pulls away.

Sam comes over to interrupt their latest staring-while-grinning-at-each-other contest, and clears his throat. “You two are signed up for the deluxe pedicure. I’ll see you guys in an hour.” He points to two smiling ladies wearing purple floral hospital scrubs standing in the doorway to the treatment area, before heading off down the hall himself with a third woman.

Dean and Cas exchange a glance, and Dean shrugs. “He ran off awful quick.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Wonder what he’s getting done that he didn’t want to share with us?”

“Perhaps he’s having embarrassing unwanted hair removed?”

Dean about chokes on his tongue wondering where the hell Cas came up with that one, and sputters out, “What?”

Cas just shrugs and heads off toward their fate, leaving Dean to trail in his wake. “There’s an incessant radio ad for a spa technique that painlessly removes embarrassing unwanted body hair. Perhaps he doesn’t want to discuss it with us, if it’s that embarrassing.”

Dean cracks up the whole way down the hall to the pedicure room.

The two women introduce themselves as Cecilia, the petite brunette with a perky little ponytail, and Perri, a slightly taller blonde with her hair cropped short in back and left long enough in front to tuck behind one ear. Cecilia takes Cas’s hand and leads him over to one of the huge recliners with a whirlpool bath where the footrest should logically be. As strange as they look, Dean can’t argue with the logic behind the design.

Perri points Dean toward the seat next to Cas’s, with nothing more than a wide cushioned armrest between them, and instructs him to remove his shoes and socks, and roll up his pants to his knees. He exchanges another glance with Cas before doing as he’s told and settling down in the chair. Perri wraps a warm, lavender-scented pillow around each of their necks and shoulders, and tells them to let her know if the pillows get cool and she’ll warm them back up.

Cecilia brings them each a mug of hot tea that smells a lot like apple pie, so Dean decides it’s worth a try. He decides it _smells_ a lot more like pie than it tastes, but it’s warm and not terrible, so he continues sipping it anyway. Cas, meanwhile, has committed to the full sensory experience of the spa and leans back in his seat with his eyes closed just breathing in the apple-cinnamon scented steam from his mug while the two ladies fill the tubs at their feet with warm flowery-scented water.

“If nothing else, our feet are going to smell incredible after this,” Dean says.

Perri smiles up at him, about to say something, but Cas speaks up first. “Cherry blossoms.”

“That’s right,” Perri agrees. “You’ve got a good nose. But this is only the first step in the process. And pleasant-smelling is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Cecilia asks if they’ve ever had a pedicure before, and both Dean and Cas shake their heads. “Then you’re in for a real treat. Just sit back and relax, and let us do our thing.” She grins up at each of them.

Dean nearly nods off as his feet soak in the warm, bubbling water, until Perri taps gently against his right calf. He cracks an eye open as she pats a towel laid out on the edge of the tub. He reluctantly sets his foot out, expecting her to dry it off and be done with it. Instead she begins rubbing some sort of creamy, gritty scrub into the rough calluses that cover his feet, working it into his skin with deceptively strong hands. It takes everything in him to keep his focus on where she’s pressing her thumbs into his heel and not let his eyes roll back in his head or let out an inappropriate groan of pleasure.

Not two seconds later, Cas loses his own battle with composure, and the rumbling noise he makes is so reminiscent of the sounds he’d made that morning that Dean has to bite his lip and take a few steadying breaths to keep from joining him. He reaches over and pokes Cas on the shoulder, and Cas rolls his head slowly against the pillow draped around his shoulders until he’s blinks his eyes open and smiles at Dean. Dean thinks it’s just about the laziest thing he’s ever seen Cas do, including all the times he’s seen him actually asleep. It’s also fucking adorable, and he can’t help but smile back.

“You enjoying yourself there, Cas?”

“Hmm,” Cas replies, as Cecilia begins working on his other foot. “So far this is exceedingly more relaxing than graveyard yoga.”

It earns him a confused look from the two women, but Dean just snorts and agrees with him. “They definitely have better furniture.”

“And refreshments,” Cas adds, finishing his tea and setting the mug down with a sigh. “Are you glad you let Sam talk you into this?”

“Yeah. I am. Just don’t tell him I said so.”

Dean relaxes and watches intently as Perri buffs his feet and nails with a variety of weird tools, and then carefully shapes each of his toenails with a file. He’s never experienced anything quite so surreal. He can’t imagine people have this done all the time.

They have a series of creams massaged into their feet and calves, and when Dean finally has to bite down on a moan of pleasure, Perri assures him she understands it feels good, and he can make whatever noises he wants to. She launches into a story about one of her regular customers who comes in once a month and weeps quietly through her entire pedicure. Cecilia adds another story about a client she had once who was so ticklish she reflexively kicked her in the face the moment she laid a hand on her. The woman apologized profusely, but didn’t think she could go on with the treatment. She still paid for the full hour, and left a hundred dollar tip on top of that.

“She didn’t kick me that hard,” Cecilia adds, “And I got an hour-long paid break out of the deal.”

After the final moisturizing treatment, Perri says, “I assume you guys don’t want nail polish, but it’s included in the package. I could swap it out for a paraffin dip instead, if you’d like. That way you’re at least getting your money’s worth.”

Cas glances over at Dean, who shrugs. “We are amenable to whatever you recommend.”

Cecilia smiles up at Cas. “Ooh, you’re gonna love this.”

Dean and Cas have each of their feet dipped in a bath of warm paraffin. Dean tries to wiggle his toes in the viscous fluid, before Perri scolds him to hold still.

“It feels so weird, though.”

She pulls his foot out slowly, letting the excess liquid drip away before slipping a plastic bag over his foot, followed by a huge fluffy slipper to hold in the warmth. Cas watches intently, waiting his turn. Dean then watches Cas’s feet plunge into the hot wax, and then studies his face as he experiences the same strange reaction.

“This is definitely in the top ten weirdest things I’ve ever done,” Dean says, as they both sit staring down at the bulky wrappings on their feet.

“I don’t know about that,” Cas replies, while Perri begins peeling the cooled and hardened wax from Dean’s right foot. “Maybe weird _for you_ , but that’s merely a function of your nonstandard experience of normalcy.”

Dean just laughs at that. Yeah, his idea of normal isn’t exactly _normal_. “Maybe, but at least this has been good-weird.”

Cecilia and Perri finish up their work, and thank them for coming in. Dean slips each of them an extra twenty bucks before he and Cas put their socks and boots back on and head out to to find Sam.

They find him standing by the Impala in the parking lot, on the phone making arrangements with Mavis for a late lunch. Yet again, Sam climbs into the back seat, letting Cas ride shotgun.

“You have a relaxing treatment, Sammy?” Dean asks once they’re on the road to Mavis’s house.

“Very,” is all Sam says.

Dean can’t stand it. He has to know what Sam had done. “So? What was it?”

“I got a haircut,” Sam says, shaking his still shaggy mane around like a supermodel.

After a glance in the rear view mirror, Dean replies, “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fine. I had a scalp massage, okay?”

Dean reins in a snort. “What, that chick rubbed your gigantic head for an hour?”

“It was fifty minutes.”

Dean thinks about it for a minute, and then shrugs. “Sounds nice.”

“You’re not going to mock me?” Sam asks, shocked.

“I believe Dean’s foot massage has left him in an agreeable mood,” Cas replies.

“Huh,” is all Sam can think to say to that.

~~~

They spend a pleasant hour with Mavis enjoying sandwiches and a double helping of raspberry torte before confirming that her ghost-related troubles are well and truly over, and heading back to the bunker. It’s close to ten o’clock before Dean pulls into the garage and Sam heads off to his room with a weary goodnight.

Cas follows Dean through the halls toward their rooms, when Dean stops suddenly just before they reach Cas’s door. He turns around to face Cas, but after the long drive, the certainty he’d shown that morning has all but vanished.

“Is something wrong, Dean?”

“I just… wasn’t sure if you’d,” Dean pauses, rubbing at his neck.

Cas can practically see Dean talking himself out of everything that had happened between them in the last twenty four hours. He takes matters into his own hands, literally, reaching out to stroke the back of Dean’s neck the same way Dean had held him that morning. “You’ve been driving a long time, Dean. Perhaps you’ve developed a new kink. Would you like me to help you work it out?”

Dean’s gaze snaps back to meet his, and his whole face lights up with relief. “Yeah, Cas. I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, you'll love my tumblr. Or maybe you won't. But it's [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/) in case you're so inclined. Clicking's free. :)


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